


Fans Of The Reichenbach

by infandomswetrust



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Other, literally the crackiest thing I ever wrote, there is no way of tagging this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:51:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1927266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infandomswetrust/pseuds/infandomswetrust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes never had to deal with anything this crazy.</p><p> </p><p>Or: How a fangirl showed up in Baker Street</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fans Of The Reichenbach

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sherlock-fic and will likely be my last. It's pure crack but actually a quite accurate portrayal of our fandom.  
> Not beta'd

It was a normal day in 221b Baker Street. Well, as normal as a day in Sherlock Holmes’ life could be. After a rather eventful morning including emu feces and three shell casings, Sherlock was sitting in his chair, already bored again. John was sitting opposite and Mary was standing in the doorframe, both inquiring about the emu feces downstairs warily.

“I told you. It was for a case,” Sherlock said, his eyes roaming through the flat. “I would elaborate, but chances are you couldn’t follow and we’ve already wasted enough time discussing this.”

“Wasted time?” John huffed out a sharp laugh. “Sherlock, half of the stairway is covered in feathers and, what did you say? Emu excretions? Please tell me you didn’t bring a giant bird into the flat,” he exclaimed, suddenly looking around as if he was expecting the thing to still be here.

“Oh, please John, you said it yourself, _half_ of the stairway. Think. If I would have brought it all the way up here, there would be more.”

Mary chuckled lightly but bit her lip when John shot her glare. She cleared her throat and took a step forward, looking around too.

“Well, where is it now?” she asked a bit suspiciously.

“Back in the zoo, of course,” Sherlock said dismissively.

“You stole an emu from the zoo?” John asked resigned.

“I didn’t _steal_ it. I… temporarily borrowed it.”

“Oh, so you _asked?”_ John said sarcastically. Sherlock pursed his lips.

“Well, no. But I’m sure they made their deductions,” the detective said, waving his hand vaguely. “Could we focus on the real problem now?”

“What real problem?” John asked and Mary glanced at Sherlock before her eyes suddenly caught a spot on the floor in the kitchen/laboratory.

“Someone was here,” she said, staring at the spot.

“What?” John asked, looking up at Mary confused while Sherlock gave a confirming nod.

Mary gestured at the kitchen floor while Sherlock began to explain.

“There are traces of emu excrements on the kitchen floor, but as you can see, _I_ wasn’t the cause,” he said, pointing at a dirty pair of shoes that stood next to the entrance door neatly. “Now, we already clarified that the bird wasn’t up here, so how did its feces end up in the kitchen?”

“Wouldn’t be the oddest thing to find in there,” John muttered and turned in his chair to see for himself. “So someone was up here while you were….bringing the emu back,” he concluded.

“Correct, except for one thing,” Sherlock said and pointed at the bathroom. “They’re still here.”

“How…” John began but thought better of it. “So a stranger is currently in the flat and you waited for almost half an hour to tell us? Jesus, Sherlock, what if they’re armed?” he hissed and fumbled for his gun.

“I… I’m not,” a voice came from the bathroom before the door opened and a girl stepped out, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Sherlock quickly let his gaze flicker over her while Mary furrowed her brow and John stood up, facing the girl.

“Right,” he said at length. “Well, who are you and what are you doing in our flat?” he asked, fully aware he had said “our” flat. No matter where he lived, 221b would _always_ be “their” flat. Apparently, the girl had noticed his phrasing too. She clasped her hands together and beamed at him.

“Omg you said ‘ _our_ flat’!!!” she exclaimed excitedly.

“He asked you a question,” Mary remarked, her tone remaining friendly and mildly curious.

“Maryyy,” the girl squeaked and surged forward, throwing herself at the startled woman and burying her face in her dress.

“At first I was really wary but then I loved you and then I hated you and now I love you more,” she mumbled into the fabric. Mary darted an utterly confused look at John and Sherlock. John was watching the scenery dumbstruck and shrugged helplessly while Sherlock observed the girl calmly and slightly interested.

“Oh-okay…” Mary muttered and tried to carefully push the girl away. She let go and grinned up at Mary before turning around and staring and John and Sherlock, not saying a word. At some point, her jaw even slightly dropped.

“So…?” John said, after exchanging a look with Mary. The girl finally seemed to wake from her reverie and quickly pulled her phone out, typing something in.

“What are you doing?” John asked, a hint more impatiently. She looked up and beamed at him again, turning her phone to show him the screen.

“It’s for my blog,” she explained and tucked her phone away with a slight blush.

“You’re not here for a case,” Sherlock stated, the first time he spoke since the strange girl had entered. She chuckled and suddenly choked on her laughter.

“OMG are you reading me???” she exclaimed and stared at Sherlock with wide, glistening eyes.

He met her eyes and shot her a slightly irritated glare.

“It’s hardly reading when everything is practically highlighted,” he answered.

“Is it?” she asked with a wide grin. Sherlock narrowed his eyes a bit.

“Well, clearly you know who we are, yet you don’t have a case, so you’re not a client. You voluntarily walked through bird excretions to get into this flat, but you didn’t take anything, so obviously not a thief. Then there’s the incredibly annoying way of speaking and the fact that you have a blog. You don’t have many friends, at least not _real_ friends. Hardly anyone who has a _blog_ does, ask John. You threw yourself at Mary but she has clearly never seen you before and neither has John, so you’re not an acquaintance. Apparently something is making you very nervous, but since you don’t seem to think of us as any sort threat, you either have social anxiety or simply low self-esteem. Additionally, you are irritatingly excitable and seem to have some sort of fixation on us.” He paused and inclined his head slightly. “Have you been watching us?”

The girl stared at him, mouth hanging wide open and a series of strange, squeak-like sounds escaping her throat. She nodded eagerly and grinned even wider than before.

“ _All_ the time!!!! I’m watching you _all the time!”_ she uttered, clasping her hands together again and finally tearing her eyes from Sherlock to look around in the room. Her eyes caught the fire place and she gave a silly chuckle, pointing at it.

“Did he _really_ pee in there? Magnussen?”

Sherlock tensed a bit and his features grew harder.

“How do you know about Magnussen?” he asked harshly. She looked at him, the grin never leaving her face.

“I told you! I’m watching _all the time._ Well, not all the time. Sometimes I can’t. How did you _really_ do it?” she asked, stepping closer and for a moment it almost looked as if she was about to sit down on Sherlock’s lap. “What you told Anderson wasn’t the truth, right? Or was it? It wasn’t. Right?”

Sherlock looked at bit surprised momentarily, before something like understanding settled on his features. “Are you another member….of this _fanclub_?” he asked disparagingly. She chuckled.

“I guess you could say that, yeah,” she said with a smile. Suddenly she jumped and looked around. “Where is Molly??? I have to hug her!”

John looked at the girl, finally regaining the power of speech after watching this curious scenario.

“You… know Molly Hooper?” he asked. The girl grinned and turned to him.

“I _am_ Molly Hooper. We all are,” she answered, confusing John further.

“You still haven’t told us who you are. And what you’re doing here,” Mary said matter-of-factly.

“I’m here because I can’t go. It’s impossible. Every second is like rain after two years in the desert,” the girl said with a frown.

“Ok, this is ridiculous,” John said exasperated. “I’m calling Lestrade.”

“YES!” the girl screamed. “OMG and can you call Mycroft too??? Can you call them _both???_ Can you call them both _here_ and we all leave so they’re alone???”

All three were staring at the girl who seemed to be having some sort of seizure. Mary was the first to clear her throat.

“Why…um, why would we do that?”

The girl stared at her scandalized. “Because of the _ship,_ ” she whispered.

“What ship?” John asked, swaying between confusion, annoyance and amusement.

“There are _so many,_ ” the girl answered. She glanced from John to Sherlock and grinned widely. “But there’s one main ship.” She quickly turned to Mary and smiled apologetic. “Don’t worry, I still love you!”

“Sherlock, what is going on,” John asked under his breath, staring at his friend expectantly. Sherlock’s eyes never left the girl and he was about to say something when the girl suddenly stormed to the window and pointed at the graffiti a few houses down that, for some reason, was still there.

“ _There!_ That’s a ship too! A big one!!! Omg, speaking of, please tell me it’s true, Sherlock.” She stared at the detective with wide, pleading eyes that turned somewhat glassy. “Please tell me my baby is still alive. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.”

That earned her another wave of confused and baffled gazes. Sherlock cleared his throat and slowly stood, not looking away from the girl.

“If you’re referring to J-“ He was interrupted by a series of strange, piercing sounds. Out of nowhere, a blue police box appeared in the middle of the flat, almost knocking Mary over. Before anyone could say anything, a middle-aged man jumped out, a sinister smile on his face and a long knife in his hands. He quickly closed the distance between himself and the girl and stabbed her right through the heart. She screamed and stared him in the eye, clutching at him desperately.

“Not…again,” she brought out before she collapsed onto the floor. Breathing her last breath she glanced up at the man and whispered. “I hate you. I love you.”

Silence settled in the flat and everyone stared at the dead girl. Mary and John desperately tried to process what was happening while Sherlock seemed way more interested in the man.

“Who are you?” he asked, taking a step closer and looking at the man with narrowed eyes.

“Me? I killed you twice. Sort of. And I saved your life just now,” the man said pointing at the dead girl. “Trust me. You’ve never dealt with anything remotely like this. They call themselves fangirls.” He threw a brief look around and stepped back into the police box. “Be warned,” he said before the doors closed and the box started to disappear again.

“Fangirls?” John asked, the first one to break the silence after a while. “What the hell is going on, Sherlock? What is all this?”

Sherlock stared at the body on the floor and his lips tugged into a slight smile.

“Something new.”

 


End file.
